


All the Pretty and Charmed Collide

by sawuhs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, nothing but smut here, though Castiel's the one controlling the sex, top!Crowley, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:49:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawuhs/pseuds/sawuhs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, not exactly my first SPN fic (I’ve never posted any before though), but it’s my first Crowley/Castiel fic, so, yeah.</p><p>Basically, I was prompted with rough sex and Castiel riding Crowley. I failed at the rough sex, I got carried away with.. angst.</p>
    </blockquote>





	All the Pretty and Charmed Collide

**Author's Note:**

> Well, not exactly my first SPN fic (I’ve never posted any before though), but it’s my first Crowley/Castiel fic, so, yeah.
> 
> Basically, I was prompted with rough sex and Castiel riding Crowley. I failed at the rough sex, I got carried away with.. angst.

_Love_ is something that Castiel will never fully understand, but love is something that he has for someone he’s built to have, love and faith and trust, all these, it’s something someone like him  _must_ have, otherwise,  _if not,_ and yet, it’s something that he starts to question these days, Castiel, and that’s why he’s here again, straddled on this stranger’s lap, and he says stranger because he  _needs_ this person to be a stranger, even if this person isn’t really a person, is a demon, is someone he knows, is Crowley, will always be Crowley when Castiel questions things and  _things_ like that.

Fists on Crowley’s chest, Castiel’s sliding, moving, gasping, eyes closed, head tilted back, sighing, and eyes closed because he knows he’s here because he _knows_ that Crowley knows what he needs.

“Cas,” breathes Crowley, one hand curving into the small of Castiel’s back, the other one running up his thigh, thumb circling, and he smiles, he smiles. He’s shifting to sit up now, pull the angel closer to him, lips against lips, says, _harder, angel,_  and then Castiel’s moving faster instead, eyes flickering open and shut again, quivering lips with soft whimpers, and he tries not to beg, but he does, asks, “Why are you making me do this?”

“Because, angel,” is Crowley’s quick reply, tongue flicking out at the vein popping up at the side of Castiel’s neck, hands moving to grasp at Castiel’s hips and pulls him down  _hard,_  says, “While you might love your God, I want nothing more than for you to truly remember who it is you worship.”

Their magic is playing pretend while not playing pretend  _and_ playing pretend.

“Of course,” the angel says, only sounding sarcastic because he’s trying not to buy into Crowley’s words, knows how a demon can taint even the purest of angels, even if that’s something rare these days, purity in angels. Castiel’s laughs, and chokes, and laughs as he bounces off Crowley’s hips, and Crowley say nothing about how a sight like this can break even a demon’s heart.

Another thing that Crowley also doesn’t say is how beautiful he’s always thought Castiel to be as he wonders how  _this_ angel’s wings would look on the grey, and he’s frowning because he feels guilty, fingers bruising on Castiel’s hips, doesn’t want Castiel to ever,  _ever_ leave, because, because there are a thousand and one reasons why Crowley would want that, and he’s being mean, he’ll tell you that it’s because it’s not every single day that you come across an angel who’d willingly bend over for a demon to use, and the one reason he’ll never give is the exact same thing that Castiel isn’t able to understand,  _love_ is a foreign word, even to him, but he knows what it is, has read books on it, seen human and souls with it.

Hell is a cruel, cruel place, Crowley tells the angel this, as his fingers make bruises over bruises, and slides his hands up, thumbs digging under Castiel’s rib cage, and he’s telling Castiel again that hell is a cruel place because there are  _things_ that should be, but will never be, and Crowley is one to know that because it’s something he’ll always see. Crowley doesn’t mind how Castiel doesn’t say anything to that, because it’s their arrangement, no talking about places like that when they’re  _here,_ but Crowley is a demon, will always be a demon, and there will always be rules that don’t stop him.

He’s biting his tongue again because love for an angel is vile, disgusting thing, and he hates how it hurts  _worse_ that this is something he wants to admit, love for an angel, and wants  _him_ to say the same things back to him, knows that angels aren’t made to love  _others_ , demons are made to suffer and make people suffer, and Crowley says nothing about how his heart aches when it’s his own name that’s slipping past Castiel’s lips.

“Crowley, Crowley,” and this is Castiel chanting the demon’s name now which means that it’s a cue for Crowley to take charge, hand wrapping around Castiel _there,_ his own hips snapping up and up, needing skin against skin to slam and resound to make it harsh, needing it to hear skin slapping against skin, needing it to sound more vile than the vile in his own head, and when it’s over, and over, and over far too many times and this is Crowley trying not to hear Castiel gasping  _because I needed more._

And Castiel, he always says nothing when he’s off of Crowley’s lap, then lying on his side, can’t understand that this is something he shouldn’t be doing, _staying,_ it only hurts Crowley more, but he wraps his arms around Castiel anyway, and kisses his forehead, says, “I  _pray_ you know that this is a vile thing.” He means this, all of this, a demon in an angel, but an angel  _on_ a demon, an angel not understanding how to love, and a demon knowing too much of it, and having too much for it.

He’s pressing another kiss to Castiel’s forehead then, because pretend is something that they both play, the angel pretending that this is right, the demon pretending that this isn’t love, and right now, right now the angel’s pretending sleep, and Crowley chuckles bitter because it’s something he knows them both to never need, but Crowley’s tugging Castiel closer anyway, lips still against Castiel’s forehead, but he’s leaning down to kiss Castiel’s lips, hopes that Castiel knows what that means, three words and eight letters Crowley will never have the guts to say, and hopes at the same time that  _his_ angel will never find this out.

“Explain love to me, Crowley,” says the angel, and this is Crowley pretending that he doesn’t have a heart.


End file.
